


The Bottom Line

by foramomentonly



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s04e16 Feud, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4x16 spec reaction drabble, a.k.a. Blaine is on bottom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottom Line

It’s finally the end of a day that Blaine easily considers one of the most taxing of his life, and all he wants to do is put on sweatpants, throw himself on his bed, and lose himself in a book or a movie or possibly a lobotomy. He’s three quarters of the way through his plan – lounging against three fluffy pillows in the center of his bed and clad in his favorite ratty, flannel pajama pants he had to save twice from Kurt’s merciless “Spring Closet Cleanse” – when his phone buzzes from its place on the nightstand. Blaine picks it up and smiles as Kurt’s elegant profile lights up the screen. Now that they are friends– maybe a bit more, considering they have engaged in no less than two Skype sex sessions since spending the night together at Mr. Schuester’s almost wedding a few weeks ago – Blaine can look forward to a light, flirty chat with Kurt. In fact, he thinks as he slides his thumb across the screen to pick up the call, it might be exactly the distraction I need.

All his delightful hopes of exchanging witty banter and basking in Kurt’s breathy laugh disintegrate upon hearing his voice over the line.  
“Blaine.”  
Kurt’s tone is tight, deliberately, but perilously controlled, and Blaine knows immediately that, rather than finding comfort and distraction from the events of this horrific, exhausting day, he’s going to spend the night rehashing them.  
“Hi, there,” he chimes, a nervous tremor betraying the carefree tone he is affecting.  
“Blaine, care to tell me why my phone has been blowing up all day with texts from half the population of McKinley – not to mention every single past and current member of New Directions! – with charming messages like, ‘Way to tap that sweet Ander-ass.’ and ‘Hit it, bro! I never would have guessed’?”  
“Santana and Puck?” Blaine asked meekly, hoping to stall the inevitable. “Why is Santana even texting you? She lives with you.”  
“Don’t use your diversionary tactics on me, Blaine Anderson!”  
The volume of Kurt’s voice is rising, as is the pitch, and Blaine knows Kurt is losing the battle to reign in his emotions.  
“What the hell is going on over there?” Kurt continues, practically hissing. “This can’t be about the wedding, everyone in glee already knows we hooked up.”  
Blaine’s shoulders slump, and he heaves a sigh. He resigns himself to a long, awkward conversation; at least, when Kurt hears the truth, his anger won’t be directed toward Blaine anymore. Probably.  
“It’s Sue,” Blaine explains tiredly. “She wants me back on the Cheerios. Missing the ‘male star power’ she had with you. She’s trying to blackmail me, and I’m not biting. So today she paid a commercial pilot to fly over McKinley trailing a banner that said, ‘Blaine is on bottom.’ People took it exactly as she expected them to.”  
There is the requisite silence that follows any explanation of the logic or actions of Sue Sylvester, and then Kurt replies, “Seriously?”  
“I know,” Blaine huffs. “It’s borderline sexual harassment, but Sue actually covered her tracks this time: apparently a terrified-looking fifteen year old boy who paid in cash and identified himself as Will Schuester placed the order. Not that it matters. You of all people know how Figgins response to bullying, especially of the homophobic variety.”  
Kurt’s voice is much softer, smaller, when he asks, “How bad was it today?”  
“Not bad, really. Sam, Jake, and Ryder flexed their guns at anyone who looked at me wrong, and Tina, Unique and Marley told off about twenty people who tried to make jokes. I barely got to defend myself, really.”  
“You sound upset about that more than anything.”  
“Shouldn’t I be?” Blaine cried, the residual resentment and frustration from a day spent not able to speak for himself roiling to the surface now that he finally had a captive audience. “I don’t care about strangers’ looks or comments, and I certainly don’t care about the good-natured – and not-so-good-natured – jokes from friends. I care about not being able to fully explain how not embarrassed I am!”  
“Oh, really?” Kurt’s tone is shifting, his voice deepening, softening, and his breath coming a bit quicker, but Blaine is too caught up in his moment to notice.  
“Of course! I wanted to tell them all, Sue especially, that I absolutely bottom and I. Absolutely. Love. It. This was my chance to show that a sexual position doesn’t define me any more than my sexuality does. That loving taking you inside me isn’t dirty or effeminate or humiliating. It’s intimate and loving and so, so sexy. I wanted to throw their own reductive, gender normative bullshit back in their faces and tell them that that banner should really say, ‘Blaine Anderson loves taking it up the ass.’”  
Blaine has worked himself into a proper state of righteous indignation, perched straight up on his bed and holding his body tense, breathing heavily and feeling his outrage coursing through his veins like a drug. Still, he’s not at all prepared for Kurt’s response.  
“Good boy,” Kurt purrs, voice deep, strong, commanding.  
Blaine holds his breath, unsure. He hasn’t heard this tone in months. During their time together at the wedding, Kurt was his usual assertive, confident self as both a person and a lover, but he never issued a direct command, never verbally dictated the pace or style of their sex. Being controlled, dominated by Kurt was a privilege Blaine never expected to enjoy again, until –  
“Kurt?” Blaine is hesitant, relaxing back slightly into his mound of pillows, but waiting for further assurance.  
“You’re such a good boy, Blaine, defending yourself and all the bottoms of the narrow-minded Great Lake states,” Kurt teases, but Blaine hears the sincerity in his words, as well. “Do you want a reward?”  
“Yes,” Blaine breathes, resting fully back on the bed and pre-emptively allowing his legs to fall open. The authoritative cadence of Kurt’s voice is already taking effect on his body, his stomach clenching in anticipation and his cock filling as his mind flashes with memories of Kurt’s previous definitions of “reward.”  
“Good. I’ve got a nice, big reward for you, Blaine, but you have to be patient and do exactly as I say. Can you do that, baby?”  
“You know I can,” Blaine replies, absent-mindedly stroking fingers across his stomach and letting his eyes flutter shut. There’s shifting on the line, and Blaine pictures Kurt in his New York loft, sliding deeper into his bed and loosening the cotton drawstring pants he would never admit to owning to anyone at Vogue.com.  
“Oh, I know,” Kurt breathes. “Now, normally I would do all this to you. I would kiss you and touch you and lick you everywhere but where you really wanted it. I would take my time. Hours, maybe. I would bring you so close, and you would be begging, Blaine, begging me to finger you, suck you, fuck you, anything. You would love that, wouldn’t you?”  
“Yes,” Blaine agrees, shift restlessly as his cock twitches in anticipation, fully hard, but neglected still, because Kurt hasn’t yet given him any instructions. Kurt loves the build up.  
“Yeah, you would love that, but I’m here, and you’re there, so here’s what we’re gonna do – ”  
Kurt pauses a moment, breathing audible through the line, and Blaine is tempted to call him out, because Blaine knows Kurt’s hand is already slowly working over himself.  
“I’m going to tell you where to touch yourself for me, how fast to go, when you can come, and you are going to tell me everything you’re feeling. You’re gonna put on a gorgeous little show for me. Yes?”  
“Absolutely,” Blaine replies. “Tell me what you want, Kurt.”  
“I want you to find some lube and I want you to coat your fingers with it,” Kurt says, and Blaine is taken aback. His hand is already halfway down his pants, fingers curling into his own pubic hair, but he freezes when Kurt’s words hit him.  
“What?” he asks.  
“Blaine,” Kurt says slowly, voice breathy, but no less commanding. “You just delivered a passionate diatribe about the joys of taking cock. My cock. So you’re going to show me how good it feels to be fucked. Lube up your fingers. Now.”  
Blaine rushes to comply, reaching deep under his mattress and retrieving the small bottle he keeps there. His fingers are lubricated and his pants discarded in seconds, and he breathes, “Ready,” into the receiver. Kurt chuckles.  
“Bet you are,” he says. “Spread your legs wide for me, baby, and – oh – and pull one leg up to your chest. You get to use one finger.”  
Blaine is in position and pushing into himself seconds later, burying his index finger in to the knuckle and working it slowly in and out in time with Kurt’s soft moans.  
“I can’t here you, Blaine,” Kurt warns, releasing a groan that shoots heat through Blaine’s whole body.  
“So good, Kurt,” Blaine pants, working his finger faster as his body opens up to him. “Need more, baby. You know what I can take.”  
“God, Blaine, I so do. Two fingers. But slowly. Want you to last.”  
“Not gonna – ” Blaine groans as he slips another finger in to join the first, his body clenching around them.  
He moans loudly, and in a brief moment of clarity blesses his parents for the number of charity events they attend. Kurt is panting in his ear through the phone, breathless moans and whispers of “Oh, god,” spiking Blaine’s arousal and triggering a familiar pooling of heat in his abdomen.  
“Let me touch myself, Kurt, please,” he begs, maintaining a torturously steady pace with his fingers as his hips work rhythmically on the digits.  
“You are, babe,” Kurt teases, laughter quickly morphing into mewls of pleasure, and Blaine growls.  
“Kurt,” he whines, knowing Kurt responds more kindly to desperation than frustration.  
“Three fingers,” Kurt gasps. “And you can touch that spot that makes you scream.”  
Blaine adds a third finger and crooks them immediately up and to the left. Blaine’s acceptance of his own body and himself as a sexual being progressed much quicker than Kurt’s, and he utilized the wonders of the Internet much more freely; as a result, he has been familiar with the exact location of his prostate and just how to work it for years.  
That, of course, doesn’t change the intensity of his reaction to his fingers brushing tantalizingly slowly, but firmly against it.  
“Oh, fuck, Kurt, yes,” he cries, throwing his head back and biting his lower lip almost painfully hard.  
“That’s it, baby,” Kurt pants. “Let me hear you.”  
Both boys abandon the powers of speech for several minutes, lost in their own pleasure and the achingly erotic sounds of the other panting, groaning, working himself feverishly.  
Tension and heat are building in Blaine’s stomach and balls, the muscles in his arms and legs flexing as he rubs incessantly against the nerves inside himself and listens to Kurt’s moans grow louder, more frequent. When he hears Kurt whine his name in that high, constricted voice Blaine knows means he is teetering on the edge of orgasm, Blaine abandons his filter completely.  
“God, Kurt, please say I can come, please. Feels so good, baby, you’re so good to me. Fucking please, Kurt.”  
Kurt’s reply is instantaneous, and equally uncensored.  
“Yes, do it, let me – Jesus, Blaine – let me hear you, scream my name. Oh, fuck –”  
Kurt is crying out a string of expletives, interspersed with a litany of “oh” and “God” and “Blaine” as he comes, and Blaine allows the sound of Kurt’s pleasure to wash over him as he fucks himself on his own fingers, pressing firmly on his prostate as the warmth in his stomach explodes across his entire body.  
“Gonna come hard, Kurt. God, gonna – ”  
He doesn’t make it, can’t finish the sentence before his muscles clench around his fingers and he sees white behind his eyes and his whole body gives itself over to the tingling pleasure coursing through his arching spine.  
Neither men speak as they come down; Kurt is whining softly, no doubt teasing himself with the delicious pleasure/pain of overstimulation.  
“Thank you,” Blaine whispers when their breathing has steadied and he hears a rustling down the line he associates with Kurt’s clean up ritual.  
“You’re welcome,” Kurt parrots instantly, laughing a bit. “But what for?”  
“I was looking for a distraction when you called; something to take my mind off of today,” Blaine explains. “That was so much better than watching whatever is currently marathoning on Bravo.”  
“Good,” Kurt replies. “And maybe you’ll still get to shove it in everyone’s face. If Sue is out to get you, I wouldn’t put it past her to tap your phone and release incriminating, uh, conversations to your gossip-mongering classmates.”  
Blaine groans.  
“She would, too,” he says, climbing under the covers, sated and exhausted. He hears Kurt do the same.  
“Just send me a copy.”  
“I’m sure Puck or Santana will beat me to it.”


End file.
